Page 28 of The Soldier
“As Miss Bronwyn dwells here, I could not avoid Miss Farnum’s company.”
“Bronwyn is an exceptionally bright little girl,” the vicar said. “And considering Miss Farnum’s circumstances, she has done what she could for Bronwyn.”
“Her circumstances?” The earl felt his temper stirring to life but kept his expression bland.
“Miss Farnum did not dwell at Rosecroft,” the vicar pointed out, “but Miss Bronwyn did. No young lady with any care for her own safety would frequent the late Lord Helmsley’s household, so Miss Farnum’s access to the child was limited. Then, too, Miss Farnum has her own concerns.”
The earl counted slowly to twenty while the refreshments were brought, then speared the vicar with a glower.
“Are you trying to politely remind me Miss Farnum’s origins are humble?” the earl inquired, handing his guest a cold glass of lemonade.
The vicar met his gaze, stalled by sipping his drink, then studied it.
“Emmaline Farnum’s position in this community is precarious. I do not like it, but the damage was done before I arrived. It is a sad fact that association with her will not inure to Miss Bronwyn’s benefit, though your own influence will weigh considerably despite that.”
“Miss Farnum is judged for her lack of standing?”
The vicar nodded as he set his drink down. “For her lack of standing, as you put it, and for her financial independence, for her good looks, and her smile, and her unwillingness to bow her head in shame. For her excellent baking, her education, her having traveled beyond this benighted valley. If it’s a good quality, a strength, then someone will condemn her for it.”
“You sound sympathetic to the lady.”
“I offered for her,” the vicar said, a soft note of chagrin in his voice. “She turned me down so gently, I almost didn’t know I was being rejected.”
“Let me guess.” The earl’s lips pursed. “She pointed out a vicar’s wife must be above reproach, pretensions to gentry, at least, but in truth, Miss Farnum wasn’t going to make any move that took her farther from Miss Winnie’s ambit or limited her own independence.”
Bothwell’s eyebrows shot up, and then he nodded. “I hadn’t put my finger on it, but she was certainly not listing the reasons that really motivated her. Unfortunately, my respect for the woman is undiminished.”
“You think being a vicar’s wife such an improvement over her current circumstances?”
“I think being this vicar’s wife could be,” Bothwell retorted. The earl was forced to acknowledge Bothwell was attractive, well built, and possessed of a pleasant demeanor. Like many men of the church, the man was also nobody’s fool when it came to dealing with people. “I work for the church to appease my late father’s sense a man should not simply be idle in this life, my lord, but I am at least comfortably well off and not that hard to look on.”
“Not that modest, you mean.” The earl had to smile. “If it’s any comfort to you, Miss Farnum has agreed to serve as a temporary governess to Winnie here at Rosecroft. That puts both ladies under my protection, and I will not countenance disrespect to either one of them.”
“Thought that might be your inclination.”
The earl’s smile turned sardonic. “As your brother no doubt informed you, the circumstances of my own birth left something to be desired.”
“My brother, the esteemed viscount, was a six months’ wonder.” The vicar grinned as he picked up his drink again. “And that type of miracle occurs with alarming frequency among the good flock at St. Michael’s.”
“You don’t preach temperance? Self-restraint, abstinence?”
“I preach tolerance,” the vicar shot back, “and looking to one’s own house before judging another, and loving one’s neighbor as one’s self.”
“And as long as you’re unmarried you can preach any blessed thing you want, and at least the females in the district will be raptly attentive.”
The vicar’s smile dimmed. “Now that is an unarguable fact. I did not appreciate until my wife died just how vulnerable a vicar is to the schemes of a potential mother-in-law.”
“My condolences, Bothwell.” The earl watched as Bothwell took a hefty swallow of his drink. The man looked entirely too young to have buried a wife.
“It has been a few years.” Bothwell shrugged. “The first year is the hardest, and the congregation has been considerate. I’d forgotten you lost a brother in the war.”
The earl smiled at him in understanding. “Would that I could forget.”
“Well.” Bothwell glanced away, out the window. “Now that you’ve heard my confession, I’ll move along, and maybe some great inspiration for the week’s sermon will come to me while I’m walking home.”
“You don’t ride?” A younger son of a viscount had no excuse for not riding.
“When I came to Rosecroft village four years ago,” Bothwell said, getting to his feet, “the fellow who held the living previously had died. The congregation had fitted him out with a nice sturdy driving horse, as the old boy was too stiff to sit a horse. It would insult my parishioners were I to trot around on some piece of bloodstock, but it offends my sensibilities to stare at that… plough horse’s fundament whenever I want to make a call.”
